You quack me up.

You know what's really funny? When people find out that I have six kids and they say something about how it's a good thing, because the kids always have somebody to play with.

Whaaaat?

Seriously...you're joking, right?

Let me clarify. I have six kids-two girls, four boys-whose ages span nearly a ten-year range. Kid one is a boy who talks about nothing but video games, South Park, military history and chicks. Kid two wears her hair spiked like Billie Joe Armstrong's, inherited our puppy's old spiked collar, plays guitar incessantly and has a Little Known Billie Joe Fact for every occasion. Kid three never wants to write about anything but sports scores and thinks we should take time off of school to watch ESPN. Kid four refuses to play outside most of the time, is on his way to being a big-time computer hacker and thinks he came from Jupiter. Kid five happens to be kid four's twin, so naturally they're automatic best buds, right? Ha. Five is outside from the time he gets up till the time he goes to bed, climbs the walls when he's inside, and is constantly building things out of old nails and scrap wood. Kid six is all about lip gloss, My little Pony and Disney Princesses, and changes dresses twelve times a day.

Yeah, if that isn't a group that just loves to play together, I dunno what is. It's a nice thought, though, the Brady Bunch or something: 'Let's all go play outside together, a friendly game of Hokeyball, and nobody will cry because she lost or scream and run inside because he spotted a wayward caterpillar.'

In reality, we have this:

"MOVE!! You're in front of the TV and I almost got killed!"

"Waaaaah! Nobody ever wants to play Dora with me!"

"Make him quit hammering! TOO LOUD TOO LOUD TOO LOUD!"

"Can you tell her to quit playing that stupid guitar? I can't hear when the cops are sneaking up on me."

"You've been playing that game all day! I need to check the baseball scores...TURN IT OFF!"

"God, can you keep your stupid ponies off my side of the bed?"

"He broke the shelf I just built!"

"Hey! You can't unplug my amp just so you can hear your stupid Barbie CD, brat!"

Ah, yes...the sounds of familial bliss...

This place is a madhouse.

No, seriously. I don't mean like on TV when Perfect Sitcom Mom shakes her head with a rueful smile on her face as her teenagers declare war by placing a line of masking tape down the middle of the room and the toddler puts her entire dinner in the blender and turns it on, hysterically leaving off the lid.

'Tch. This place is a madhouse!' she'll say.

Ha.

Let me tell you about a madhouse.

The psychotic hound puppy just made the acquaintance of our three borrowed chihuahuas. (The fact that we have borrowed chihuahuas should tell you something.) They're barking their little bug-eyed heads off-well, two of them are; the other one is making this bizarre squeaking noise-while Dexter, the hound, leaps around and tries to sniff every inch of their little bodies. Sebastian freaks out and starts screaming that Dexter is going to eat the chihuahuas, so I explain that dogs get to know each other by sniffing each other, but apparently I'm not quite as observant as some members of the family, like Zoey. "Yeah, they sniff each other and they lick each other's weiners too!" she says. It's true, our little houseguests seem to be a bit on the gay side, but why did the kid have to pick today to start wearing her glasses and actually paying attention to what goes on around her?

Jeremy is wearing one of his great-grandfather's old shirts over his usual long-sleeved shirt and pants, because it despite being the middle of August, he's freezing. He's in his room emitting a high-pitched shriek, broken up by cries of "I want my pencil!"

Sebastian is out in the driveway spinning his arms and yelling unintelligible sounds at himself.

Dylan takes a break from his schoolwork to ask me if I know some obscure bit of military history. No, I tell him, but you're supposed to be doing your book.

Now Jeremy has a wooden axe that Zac built, trying to get Sebastian to give up The Pencil.

Anyway. Back to Dylan. Do I know that whatever happened whenever?

"No Dylan. I did not know that. But you're supposed to be in the kitchen working."

"Yeah but did you know that?"

"No, I didn't. Now go back and finish your math."

"Yeah I'm gonna but how could you not know that? That was like really important."

"Well, I don't know much about history, honestly. That's why you get to teach it to your siblings. Now you need to go finish working. Maybe you could write about that event later during free study time."

"Why would I want to write about that? I already know all about it. Everybody knows that. God."

"Dylan, you have to-JEREMY! PUT THE AXE DOWN!-go do your math."

"I'm gooooing, god, you never have any patience. Oh and did you know that Florida is more racist than North Carolina?"

"Dylan, GO!"

"Fine, if you don't care about a bunch of racists in your home state."

He finally goes, supposedly working on his math while informing his sister that she's a bullshitter because she wears a spiked dog collar and also doesn't care about racists in her home state. First, though, he has to stop and touch The Pencil, which Jeremy finally found, which of course sends Jeremy into a new howling fit.

Now Jess has evolved from being a bullshitter to a Bolshevist, according to Dylan.

Jess yells from the kitchen, "Hey Mom, did you know there are child labor laws?"

From Dylan: "They don't apply to chores, genius."

From a very sad Jess: "Oh...well...never mind then."

The Bolshevik conversation resumes.

I remember that I was supposed to take Jeremy to the dentist, and didn't. Oh well. I don't like those people anyway.

Random sounds:

YOU HAVE TO BE NICE TO ME!

I AM BEING NICE TO YOU, ARE YOU STUPID? DUH!

Why do the doggies do that, anyway?

So are chihuahuas real dogs or are they like a crossbreed between a rat and like a poodle or something?

Could a rat even mate with a dog?

Well yeah, look how little this one is.

Yeah but I mean could they like breed?

No!

Too bad, that would be cool.

Where's the turtle? I think the big one ate the little one.

Oh yeah, we need dog food. And crab food.

Um...who used the bathroom last? I need to know if it flushed then. Cause now, like...yeah. It kinda looks like it might overflow. I mean it might not, but yeah, it kinda looks like it will.

I'm not an omnivore. I'm not an omnivore! I AM NOT AN OMNIVORE!!

Hey...where's Mom going? Why does she have a suitcase? And what's with all the Hawaiian shirts? Mom...mommm...hey guys, now we can have mustard and Froot Loop sandwiches for lunch!

new blog

I've started a blog to follow our progress in getting real diagnoses for Jeremy and Sebastian...something that makes sense and isn't the blanket ADHD diagnosis every kid in America gets. It'll also follow the ups and downs of their therapies and daily lives. You can access it through my profile...the address is www.fecundswamp.blogspot.com.

Who says you can't control the weather?

To make a flood:

Plug the drain in the bathroom sink, stick your sister's toothbrush in the little overflow hole, turn the water on full blast, lock the door behind you as you run out. Contain your maniacal laughter just long enough for the floor to become thoroughly covered with water, requiring the use of every just-washed-this-morning towel in the house to clean it up.

To make snow:

Dump the entire contents of the ice bin from the freezer onto the kitchen floor. Dump the contents of the sugar canister on top of the ice. If you do this during the right time of year, right in the middle of summer, the ants that will almost immediately converge on the mess will look like a group of wee skiiers milling around on the slopes.

To make a sudden rainstorm complete with beautiful waterfall:

Turn on the shower. Open both the shower curtain and the liner as far as they will go. Stand under the water at the exact angle that will deflect the water off your body onto the sides of the tub. Watch the water pour over the side of the tub until your father runs up from the basement soaking wet and yells, 'Turn off the damn water! NOW!'

To create a heat wave:

Wake up at 2 a.m. and decide that you are freezing. Turn the heat on, and push the little temperature control button up until it won't go any higher. Go back to sleep. Be thankful when your parents wake four hours later that they are stuck to their sheets with sweat and can't get up to send you to the desert far, far away.

The best laid plans

This was not the day I had in mind. Swimming lessons with clean, well-behaved children in the morning, errands after, then home to a tidy house and sweet but mischievous children who are fun, yet know their boundaries...that was the plan, oh, fifteen years ago or so.

This is the reality: swimming lessons with not-too-filthy, well-behaved children, one of whom has to get in the water fully dressed in pants and long sleeves and won't remove his shoes till he reaches the water's edge. The teenaged lifeguard who is teaching the boys' group is patient and kind, and I'm sure the girl teaching Zoey's group is only pretending she doesn't notice the snarls in her hair and the dirt under her toenails. It takes forever to get to the truck afterward because Jeremy's legs are frozen and he walks stiff-legged, on his heels, the whole way to the parking lot. Back home the wet clothes are exchanged for dry after a frantic search for clean undies and then I'm off in search of a broom to replace the one somebody broke last week. If I'm lucky I'll get to use it this afternoon. I leave amid hugs and kisses and threats if the house isn't cleaned up by the time I return, and the little people are left in the care of their older siblings. Back home I am greeted by slightly less messy house and we get to work. I attempt to get Sebastian to take a new herbal remedy that might help him with his outbursts, rage and refusal to listen, and of course that turns into an all-out war; fifteen minutes of Mom versus Ten-year-old, complete with the boy screaming, running out of the house and deliberately spilling water down the front of his shirt. Jeremy can't beat one of the games on his new Batman computer and loses his mind, throwing boxes at everone and shrieking at the top of his lungs. A nasty comment gets Sebastian sent to his room where he screams and kicks the door; the noise is too much for Jeremy who loses it again, running around with his hands over his ears and crying. While my back is turned, Zoey adds her 'special ingredient'-clay-to the meat I'm cooking for dinner. It's only a tiny bit, and I don't care. I stir it in and it looks like onions. There is a ukelele with no tune, a teenager begging Can I? CanICanICanIMomComeonplease, some kind of tinny music, an argument over where to keep the Batmen, an adolescent drummer, and a needy five year old all fighting for space in my ears and my head. If I say yes to one I'm doing wrong by another. If I say no to one, I'm an evil bitch.

This was not the plan, but I'll adjust, and if you have a spare valium or seven I'll take that too.

Oops.

If you have a craving for an egg salad sandwich, make sure you pay attention while the eggs are boiling.

Otherwise all the water in the pan will evaporate and then the eggs will begin exploding, shooting steaming hot ovid projectiles all over the kitchen. You will get to play 'dodge the missile eggs' while trying to slam a lid onto the pot. You will be laughed at by children who still think the height of comedy is a nice loud armpit fart. You will never get your damn sandwich.

And burned eggs stink.

Democracy at its finest

ALBANY, N.Y. - The highest courts in two states dealt gay rights advocates dual setbacks Thursday, rejecting same-sex couples' bid to win marriage rights in New York and reinstating a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage in Georgia.

*sigh* Right...because love and commitment are bad...good thing we have people like this to make sure our country does things the right way...you know, blowing shit up...killing, hate and racial profiling, that's what we're all about. Not a bunch of homos who have the audacity to want the same rights everyone else has...

Oh and why the hell is it always 'gay rights'? What about simply 'human rights'?

I'm done now...gonna go kiss a girl and give a politician a well-deserved stroke...;)